


Crash World

by Vgameman2011



Category: Supernatural
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-05-10
Updated: 2014-05-12
Packaged: 2018-01-24 05:09:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 9,320
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1592738
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vgameman2011/pseuds/Vgameman2011
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>An unexpected circumstance brings Sam and Dean together, digging up Sam's childhood feelings. Sam wishes he would've thrown them into the dirt with their father.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is going to be my first attempt at writing a multi-chapter fan fiction. Let me know how I'm doing, and if you have any suggestions!

Sam never imagined it was going to happen like this.

Never like this.

He always used to picture it in his head; what the circumstances would be when he, his brother, and his father finally saw each other again; what would be said about him "deserting" them to go to Stanford.

It usually went like this: Sam calling every single one of his brother Dean's many cell phones in the hopes that he'll actually pick up, which is about as easy as trying to single-handedly stop a moving semi. Sam doesn't know if Dean is too impatient to check all of his phones, or if he just knows it's Sam calling and that's why he doesn't answer. Knowing his brother though, it's probably more likely to be the latter than the former, which puts a knot in Sam's stomach.

Eventually Dean will get around to answering a phone (after an hour of attempts; probably beginning to annoy the shit out of him) and pick up with "Agent Kelly speaking, what can I do for ya?"

"Dude, I know that you know it's me."

"Sam," Dean would answer coldly. Sam could just see Dean's classic sourpuss pout he would begin to wear on his face. "What the hell do you want?"

"Well, I was just wondering if, maybe…" Sam would begin nervously, "you wouldn't mind coming up here to see-"

"And what sort of freak do you think it would take to possess me to do that? Get lost Sam, since you've more than shown you're damn good at it."

 _Click._  The dial tone would begin to play, and Sam would be left with nothing but a bad taste in his mouth.

But even still, Dean would show up on his apartment doorstep less than a week later. Depending on the day, Dad will show up with Dean or he'll be off on a hunt somewhere. Not like Sam would care either way; he couldn't give two shits about his old man.

Then the inevitable arguing would ensue, the words "betrayal" and "daddy's good little soldier" being thrown around like gunfire. Dean would then throw a hissy fit and leave, tires peeling out in the driveway, without giving Sam time to explain while he tries to gets his head on straight, which always happens, and it's one thing about his brother that really pisses him off.

Or when Sam's in a particularly good mood, he imagines him and Dean just hugging it out, but that doesn't occur too often. Fat chance Dean would even let that happen; it would hurt his manly ego too much.

Nevertheless, no matter what Sam imagined their family reunion would be like, he never thought that this would be it.

He finds himself thinking that as he's peering down at his Dad's dead body, lying in a makeshift wooden casket in the middle of Bobby Singer's fucking junker-lot. Sam doesn't even know what happened; he just got the call from Bobby that morning saying his Dad was dead. He wanted to vomit, and nearly did after he hung up the phone. Oddly enough though, he wasn't all that upset about his father dying. Instead, what he was worried about was his brother. Dean looked up to the man in an almost God-like adoration. The way Dean's eyes shined when Dad praised him was hard to miss. It was also hard to miss the extreme hurt in those deep green eyes when Dad put him down, something that happened far too much for Sam's liking, and it just made him hate the man that much more. It was like Dean wasn't happy unless he felt that he was living up to Dad's unrealistic expectations, and it made Sam sick with anger. Every time he tried to call Dean out on it the conversation would normally end with a fist coming towards his face, until eventually he learned to just not bring it up anymore. Whatever; if his brother wanted to do that to himself, it wasn't his problem.

Except that it was.

Dean was all that Sam had growing up. Hell, he's still all that he has, and Sam can't help but feeling that he royally fucked that up. He had no choice; he had to leave, get away from their Dad. Dean didn't look at it that way though. No, he looked at it as abandonment on Sam's part, like Sam was leaving to get away from him, not Dad. Which wasn't true at all.

When Dad would be gone for weeks at a time, and dump the boys off in some one-star motel, who cared for Sam? Who looked after him, made him food (even though half the time it was burnt, but Sam didn't care), gave him driving lessons, and most importantly, kept him safe? It wasn't their father; that much is for sure.

These thoughts kept rushing through his mind as he looked down at his dead father, wishing his face would've always been that calm, instead of permanently stuck in that "I'm going to kill you" position.

Sam looked around at the few people gathered there. There was Bobby Singer of course, dressed in his usual button down flannel shirt, jeans, and boots. There were a few guys who Sam presumed were friends Dad gained while working in the family business, which was hunting ghosts, demons, anything along those lines. Other than that, there was no one else except for…

He glanced over at the black, '67 Chevy Impala parked in front of Bobby's house, and saw his brother leaning against it, arms folded in his brown leather jacket, wearing that scowl on his face like always. Before he could stop himself, Sam began to slowly walk over to his brother, although he wasn't entirely sure what he was going to say to him when he reached him. He's probably going to kick himself in the ass for this later, but right now he just wants to talk to his brother, whether Dean is willing or not, because he can't be handling this very well. Knowing his brother, Dean's going to keep this bottled up inside of him and let it eat away at his insides until he finally bursts.

Dean notices Sam's presence and immediately begins to stiffen, awkwardly glancing in every direction and scratching the back of his head. Then he sticks his hands in his pockets, looking in the opposite direction.

"Hey, Dean," Sam says to him, when he finally reaches the car.

Dean, after a long, awkward silence, finally looks at Sam with hurtful eyes.

"Go to hell, Sam."

With that, Dean gets into the car and peels out, leaving Sam standing dumbfounded in a cloud of dust.

That went well.


	2. Chapter 2

Sam didn't realize how long he'd been standing there in the dust, watching his brother drive away from him, until Bobby's dog Rumsfeld pressed his nose into his thigh, wagging up at him with an almost sympathetic look.

"Good dog," Sam says, running his hand across Rumsfeld's head briefly, and then turning to walk back towards the junker-lot. As he gets closer, he realizes almost every single person is staring at him, and Bobby's shaking his head as if to say "you complete fucking moron." Sam doesn't disagree with him.

G _ee, this isn't awkward._

When he finally reaches the scene, everyone begins to turn away and go about their business as if they weren't just staring at him like he was a horrible car accident; something people just can't help but look at with both interest and sadness.

Bobby, however, begins to move towards Sam.

"Idjit."

"Nice to see you too, Bobby," Sam answers, throwing the man a forced smile, which was not returned in the slightest. He can almost feel the daggers Bobby's trying to impale him with.

"Yeah, peachy," Bobby replies, giving Sam the best look of anger he could muster. "Just answer me this, boy, why the hell'd you go two whole years without so much as a damned phone call? Think you could just prance off to Stanford and the whole world and your family would forget you existed? Think again."

"Family, Bobby? You call shitty motels, sleeping with a gun underneath my pillow, never leaving my Dad's sight without having a see-who-can-scream-the-loudest-contest, Dad being gone for every birthday, every Christmas- you can seriously sit there and say with a straight face that that was family?"

"Well you sure as hell weren't the Brady Bunch, that's for sure, but God damnit Sam, John was just trying to keep ya safe the best he could. Both you and your brother."

Sam winces at that one, the hurt of Dean's sudden departure still fresh in his mind.

"Could you..," Sam begins, looking down at his feet, "… could you tell me what happened?"

Bobby replies with a heavy sigh, and then begins to walk past Sam towards his house, giving him a slap on the shoulder as he passes.

"C'mon."

Sam, with his head still lowered and hands in his coat pockets, follows, kicking a few rocks along the way.

He throws all of his weight down into a chair in the kitchen, cradling his head in his hands, after which he felt the cold chill of a beer bottle smack against his hand, and willingly accepted it, Bobby taking a seat across from him. They pop the caps off, hold the bottles up in a toast, and drink, Sam draining nearly the entire bottle before bringing it back to the table.

"It was the demon, Sam," Bobby tells him.

"THE demon? A.k.a. yellow-eyes?" Sam asks him, his eyes wide with fear.

Bobby grimly gives him a nod, and suddenly Sam felt as if someone gave him a cheap-shot to the stomach.

The flashback comes almost instantly; his mother being thrown against the wall of his bedroom, scraping up the wall until she was hanging above his crib on the ceiling, blood spilling out of her stomach, her mouth opening but being unable to produce sound, and then the sight of her burning, trapped in an explosion of flames; and in the midst of all the fire, all of the smoke, those horrible yellow eyes staring down at him, a sick smile protruded across the fucker's face. Then Dean rushing into the room to grab him, protect him, keep him safe.

To this day, it astounds Sam that he's even able to remember that much, considering the fact he was still defecating himself at that point in his life. Even if he didn't remember anything else, he was sure he would still be able to remember those horrible, disgusting, ugly yellow eyes.

So now the demon took his Dad away from him too.

His fist clenched in his lap, and then he found it slamming down onto the table.

"Damn it!"

Bobby doesn't even jump; he was expecting the reaction.

"From what Dean told me, and believe me, it would've been easier to make a nun swear than get him to talk, but somehow I managed it: John found this gun; a Colt that has the power to kill anything, even a demon. The two of them nearly worked themselves to exhaustion to find that thing, hunt it down. Turns out they finally found it, and when John was just about to pull the trigger… well, you can figure it out from there." Bobby looks at Sam with a sorrowful face before adding: "Dean barely made it out of there alive."

Sam quickly tries to push the thought out of his head. His father's death is one thing, but Dean…

Damn it, he needs to wipe that thought clean from his head.

"A Colt that could take out the demon, huh? Where did he even find out about that thing?" Sam asks Bobby, taking another swig of his beer.

"Legend has it, Samuel Colt made it for a huntin' buddy of his back in 1835, along with thirteen bullets," Bobby says.

Unlucky number thirteen, that doesn't surprise Sam at all.

"The guy apparently used the thing half a dozen times, and then vanished. No one saw hide nor hair of his sorry ass after that."

"And where did Dad manage to find it?" Sam asks him, sounding a little astounded.

"Found out a band of vampires were keeping it."

Not gonna lie, Sam is slightly impressed.

But even so, all he managed to do was get himself killed. Not exactly a reason to celebrate.

"Did Dean tell you where the Colt is now?"

"Sam…," Bobby sighs.

"What?" Sam asks him in an almost offended tone.

"Don't tell me you're gonna try to go after that thing."

"Why the hell shouldn't I Bobby? The asshole killed both my parents! Why shouldn't I want revenge?"

"Because, damn it, I don't want it to be you out there in a casket this time next month! Don't you think you've put your brother through enough, and now you're gonna try to go and kill yourself?" Bobby's voice is bursting with anger. "Think about it, boy."

Sam's so angry he could spit, but he knows Bobby is right. He would never want to put Dean through that kind of turmoil. It pains him to think about it.

He takes a few seconds to breathe, calm himself down, and then downs the rest of his beer. "You're right, I shouldn't try to go after that thing, especially since I've been out of practice."

"Gee, there's finally some sense coming out of that mouth of yours. What is this, the apocalypse?"

Sam manages to chuckle at that a bit.

"But still, I just want to know for curiosity's sake, did Dean tell you where the Colt is?" Sam asks him again, this time without the determination to kill in his voice.

"No, he didn't. Boy clammed up before I could even get the chance to ask."

Well,  _shit._

Sam leans back in his chair, sighs, and that conversation was over with.

Bobby takes the last couple drinks of his beer and stands up, heading towards the door.

"Well, c'mon, we gotta go get this over with, whether your brother's here or not."

Sam feels sick to his stomach again, almost completely forgetting about the reason why he was even sitting in Bobby Singer's kitchen in the first place. Kind of wishes he could forget, and not have to do this at all.

Especially without… no, it was his own decision to leave. He could've sucked it up and stayed. It's only his father's funeral, for Christ's sake.

He somehow manages to get himself to his feet, and reluctantly follows Bobby out the door to the junker-lot. There he got one last look of his father, and began to get pissed with himself, because the only emotion he felt towards the man was anger.

As the casket was lowered into the newly dug-open hole, as the mounds of dirt were being poured over his father, his mind was filled with just one thought.

Dean.


	3. Chapter 3

_Thud._

The sound goes through Sam like a jolt, suddenly bringing him back to reality.

_Thud._

Sam finally breaks free of his daydream and looks up to see Bobby padding the dirt over his father's grave with a shovel.

_Oh shit dad is dead._

It still doesn't seem real to Sam. John Winchester was supposed to be invincible. He was supposed to be able to take any threat, look it dead in the eye and tell it calmly to go fuck itself. At least, that's what Dean would say.

_Oh shit Dean._

A pain tinges through Sam's chest, and for a second, he almost wants to cry. Almost.

_"You're worse than a chick, Sammy."_

Sam shakes his head, telling his thoughts that they've overstayed their welcome( _seriously, I've got to get some mental help)_. All it does is start to aggravate them more.

He can't help but play back Dean's departure in his head over and over, like it's on an infinite loop and won't stop. Dean looked so hurt, so betrayed when Sam tried to talk to him. Sam never could stand to see Dean hurt, and it makes it worse knowing that he's the one that caused it.

_"Go to hell, Sam."_

Dean might as well have just stuck a knife in his gut and twisted it, slowly. Sam can't imagine that would be any worse than the pain he's experiencing now.

He didn't even notice that Bobby was already done, putting the shovel back in his shed before walking over to him .

"He'll be back, son. Just give it some time," Bobby tells him, slapping a hand on Sam's back, effectively breaking him out of his daze.

"Yeah," Sam answers, still staring down at the gravesite.

Behind him, Bobby sighs. Sam can tell he's getting annoyed.

"The only thing that'll happen from you standing there is a real bad sunburn," Bobby says, turning around and walking towards his house, Rumsfeld right at his heels, tongue out and tail wagging. "Come on inside, I'll make you something to eat."

Sam's stomach growls at the thought of food, reminding him that he didn't eat at all today. He's also soaked in sweat, the black color of his shirt attracting what seems like an ungodly amount of heat. Leave it to John Winchester to have his funeral on one of the hottest days of the summer.

Alright, it's probably time to move now.

He takes one last look at the grave, one last look at all that's left of their father, before turning and following Bobby into the house.

—

Relief floods Sam as he passes the threshold, feeling instantly cooled by Bobby's old rundown AC unit.

Jesus, how long was he standing out there? Long enough that he and Bobby (and Rumsfeld of course) were the only ones still here. Which also means that Dean still isn't here.

_"Go to hell, Sam."_

Sam proceeded into the kitchen to find Bobby over the stove, tossing various things into a pot, which to Sam smells a lot like stew. He took a seat at the table, his mind filled with memories. Dean tried to make stew for him once, during one of the rare motel stays that actually had a working stove.

_"Sammy, would you just eat already?" Dean pleads, holding a spoon filled to the brim with mushy carrots and potatoes out to his little brother, who couldn't have been more than 8._

_"It looks gross."_

_"Well tough luck," Dean scolds, pushing the spoon closer to Sam's face. "I'm sorry I'm not Betty Crocker, but this is all we've got to eat right now."_

_"Betty who?" Sam asks, looking dumbstruck._

_"Never mind," Dean replies, shaking his head. "Come on Sammy, please?"_

" _Can't we get some pizza or something? Pretty please?" Sam begged, making the best impression of a puppy dog he could muster._

_"We don't have the money for pizza," Dean answers solemnly, clearly hurt at the fact that he doesn't have the means to make Sam happy. "Just try it."_

_"I hate carrots."_

_Dean finally gave up, putting the bowl back down onto the table. He played with the spoon for a bit before standing and going towards his bed._

_"You know," Dean starts, picking up a pillow from his bed and heading back towards Sam, " you can go right ahead and not eat. That way you can't fight back when I do this!"_

_The pillow hit Sam in the face before he knew it was coming._

_Laughing, Sam rushed to the bed to equip himself, Dean on his tail. He wasn't quick enough though, as Dean already started to unleash his attack by the time Sam got his hands on a pillow. He tried to retaliate, but Dean was too fast, and kept blocking all of Sam's futile attempts to fight back._

" _You swing like a girl!" Dean teases, hitting the back of Sam's head with his pillow._

_"Do not!" Sam yells, finally managing to land a blow. After that, Dean puts Sam in a headlock, and quickly proceeds to rub Sam's head with his knuckles._

_"Okay, okay, you win!" Sam says, squirming away from Dean, rubbing the top of his head._

_With a big victory smile on his face, Dean asks him, "Do you wanna know how I got so strong?"_

_"How?" Sam replies, frowning._

_"I eat my goddamn carrots."_

_Sam ate nearly half the pot after that._

_"This actually tastes pretty good, Dean," Sam confesses, after he's nearly done with his third bowl._

_Dean smiled for the rest of the night._

Bobby slammed a bowl of stew on the table, making Sam jump.

"Jesus!"

"You've been daydreaming the whole time I've been cooking, " Bobby tells him, fixing himself his own bowl. "Just wanted to check if the lightbulb was still on in there."

Sam appreciates the fact that Bobby is trying to brighten the mood, but he really wishes he wouldn't.

He gives Bobby a half smile in response, grabbing a spoonful of stew and bringing it to his mouth.

God, it tastes so much like Dean's. Is there a recipe book for hunters somewhere that he doesn't know about?

Before he knows it he's eating like a ravenous dog, but then he senses Bobby staring at him and quickly goes back to eating like a normal human being. Both of them continued to eat in silence.

Silence, that is, until he hears the familiar roar of the Impala pulling into Bobby's driveway.

_Dean._

Sam immediately gets up from his chair and goes to the window, just to make sure he wasn't imagining things. Sure enough, there's Dean, climbing out of the Impala, making his way towards the door. There's Dean, still wearing the same scowl on his face when he drove away earlier.

There's Dean, punching Sam in the face as soon as he greets him at the door.

Sam's face explodes with white hot flashes of pain, and in no time he's down on the ground, cradling his face. He can taste the copper in his mouth, knowing full well his brother hit him hard enough to draw blood.

"What the fuck, Dean?" Sam spits, still rubbing the tender spot where he just got sucker punched. Bobby quickly gets up from the table, as if he's going to intervene, but then stops as Dean starts to yell.

Probably best he doesn't get in the middle of this firefight.

"You don't get to talk right now," Dean commands, his finger pointing down at Sam.

_Damn, Dean was kind of attractive when he was commandeering._

_Holy hell, what am I thinking?, Sam asks himself. Must be from the punch._

Yeah, _that's_ what it is.

While Sam was lying on the ground arguing with his inner thoughts, Dean continues, "I looked after you, Sam. All my life I put you first and what did you do? You left."

He throws a lot of hurt into that last word, effectively peppering sam with bullets of regret. As if the knife in his gut wasn't enough from earlier. (Oh yeah, and his face too, which is still throbbing.)

"Dean, just hang -"

"Shut up." Dean isn't going to let Sam have a single word. He stands there for a second, trying to figure out what to say, before Dean started to rub his forehead. "When the demon got Dad, he, he looked over at me and smiled. Said to me 'if only you knew what was coming next.' I thought - I thought he was gonna hurt you, Sammy."

Realization finally began to seep into Sam.

How could he have been so selfish? Of course his brother was worried, Sam never called once in two years. Normally, in their line of work, that never means anything good. Of course, he was just away at school, but Dean knows as well as Sam what lurks in the dark, and just because he's at Stanford doesn't mean he's immune.

 _He's such a fucking idiot_.

Sam stood up, arms stretched out, trying to pull Dean into a hug. Dean resisted at first, jerked back faster than he could blink, but then eventually let Sam pull him into it. He hesitated for a moment, and then hugged Sam back.

"I'm just glad you're safe, Sammy," Dean tells him, rubbing Sam's back with his hand.

"Couldn't you have just told me that before you sucker punched me, you jerk?" Sam says teasingly.

"Bitch."

From the table, Bobby finally thought it was safe to move. He walked beside them and smacked them both on the back of the head.

"Idjits," Bobby says, returning to the table to finish his bowl of stew.

Dean and Sam couldn't help but laugh.

—

For the rest of the night, Sam felt like he was on cloud nine.

He and Dean talked about everything they could muster for several hours, everything from his hunts with Dad, to what types of names they were using on their credit cards, to Stanford and of course, Jess.

"Jessica, huh? Sounds like a babe!" Dean exclaims, leaning back in his chair at the table and taking a swig of his beer.

"Don't get any ideas, Dean," Sam jokes.

"I'm just saying, it sounds to me like she's way out of my little brother's league," Dean says.

"Definitely better than every bar skank you've ever picked up," Sam teases him, trying to get a rise out of his brother.

That's when the memories started to come back. Dad would be away on a hunt, leaving him and Dean to themselves. Most of the time they found themselves at the local bars, hustling for money at the pool table.

Sam remembers clear as day just how terrible he was at first.

_"Here Sammy, I'll help," Dean tells him, after watching Sam fail about five times in a row._

_He walked behind Sam, resting his hands over Sam's on the cue._

_"You go_ _tta loosen up, man. You're way too tense," Dean says, adjusting Sam's grip. "You've got to just let the cue slide through your fingers gently."_

_With Dean still straddling him(and damn, he smells nice), Sam manages to sink one._

_"Wow!" Sam exc_ _laims, standing upright, Dean now heading back to the other side of the table._

_"There, you see? That wasn't so hard," Dean says, turning to look at some hot blonde that just walked by the pool table._

_Sam remembered being ignored for the rest of the night, and when it was time to go back to the hotel, Dean didn't follow. Sam spent the rest of his night watching whatever trash was on the TV, jealousy burning in the pit of his stomach._

_Why was he so jeal_ _ous, anyway?_

Sam knows exactly why he was jealous, but he just didn't (and still doesn't) want to admit it. It's not normal in any way, shape, or form. So he pushes that memory, and his feelings back down into the depths where they belong.

Dean laughs at Sam's remark, and Sam finds himself staring at his brother's smile. God, he's missed that smile.

"You two are welcome to stay if you want," Bobby tells them, coming into the kitchen to grab a beer. "The bedroom upstairs is open."

"Thanks Bobby, but I have to be back at Stanford in the morning," Sam tells him. "I've got an interview for law school."

"Law school? No shit," Dean says, taking a pull from his beer. He doesn't sound too terribly excited though, as if he just realized that Sam would be leaving him soon, again.

_Damn it, Dean._

"Hey, how about you drive me back to school, Dean?" Sam asks him, which gets him a raised eyebrow.

"Didn't you drive your own car here?" Dean asks, perplexed.

"Well, yeah, but it'll be okay here for a while. Right, Bobby?" Sam asks, looking in Bobby's direction.

"Gee, I just don't know if I have the room," Bobby snickers, then continues. "Yeah son, I don't have a problem with it."

Dean is still looking at him, confused. Eventually though he smiles at Sam, and says "Sounds like a plan, then."

They spend the next couple minutes gathering their things, telling Bobby their goodbyes ( _you better call sometime, you idjit_ ), before heading out to the Impala. It was almost dark by now, the setting sun putting an orange glow on everything. Sam got to the car and was instantly greeted with a familiar smell when he opened the door, and instantly he felt warmth spreading over him.

_Home._

As he leaned into the passenger's seat, he notices Dean wasn't by the car. He looks around to find his brother, and sees Dean standing by Dad's grave. He didn't get to see the funeral, after all.

Sam wonders over to his brother, putting a hand on his shoulder. He glances at his face, which looks even more pained than it did before. A single tear fell out of his eye, before being quickly wiped away.

"Let's go," Dean says, turning and heading towards the Impala.

—-

They spent most of the car ride in silence.

Dean's face hasn't changed since they left Bobby's, still scrunched and scowled, his lips pursed together.

Something is bothering him, Sam knows it, but he doesn't have it in him right now to bring it up. He also just really doesn't want to get punched again(even though Dean's driving, it doesn't mean he wouldn't). So instead of bringing it up, Sam just leans back into his seat, listening to one of Dean's old cassettes, and trying to breathe in as much of his brother's scent before having to leave him again.

_"You left."_

That's it, Sam can't take it anymore.

"Hey, Dean, " Sam says, the concern apparent in his voice. His brother's scowl deepens, like he realizes that Sam is about to start what he calls a 'chick flick moment.'

"Not now, Sam," Dean replies, his grip tightening on the steering wheel.

"I just wanted to let you know that I didn't leave because of you."

Dean snorts, clearly not believing what Sam just told him.

His brother irritates the shit out of him sometimes.

"I left because I had to," Sam begins again, looking at Dean now. "Dad and I were at each others throat constantly, and I knew how much it hurt you every time we argued. I had to get away, but it was never because of you Dean. Never."

"Well it sure didn't seem like that from where I was standing," Dean snaps, his eyes still glued to the road.

"I'm serious, Dean," Sam tells him, getting a little annoyed. He's always so damn difficult.

Not like he doesn't have a right to be, Sam thinks to himself.

"I know, okay, I know!" Dean says, still rubbing his forehead. "I just missed you Sammy, okay?"

Sam felt a sudden tinge of warmth. He was about to tell Dean he missed him too, but then he realized that Dean was still scowling. Obviously he was still upset about something.

Despite his better judgement, Sam asks him, "There's something else bothering you isn't there?"

Dean put his hand back on the wheel, tightening his grip.

"You can tell me, you know."

"I failed."

The hurt in his voice was deep, reaching out and cutting sam with a blade. Sam doesn't understand, how on Earth did his brother fail? Dean always has had a habit of putting the world on his shoulders, and it's something that irritates Sam to no end.

"You didn't do anything wrong, Dean," Sam tells him, but Dean isn't buying it. He laughs in response.

"I fucked up, Sam," Dean starts, "Dad trusted me with the colt and I, I fucked up."

Sam looks at him, and sees that his scowl finally receded. His eyes were wet with tears, but Dean was obviously fighting them back.

"How did you-"

"I lost it, okay? I lost the damn gun, and the only chance at killing the demon."

How can he be blaming himself for this? From what Sam remembers Bobby telling him, the demon hurt Dean pretty bad. Nobody in their right mind would expect Dean to keep track of a damned gun while he was getting the shit kicked out of him by a demon.

Nobody except Dean, of course.

"Listen to me Dean," Sam begins, putting a hand on Dean's shoulder, making him flinch, "there was nothing that you could've done. If that thing was strong enough to kill Dad, you're lucky you made it out of there alive, and with every appendage still attached."

Sam can see he's getting through to Dean, at least a little, and keeps talking. "We'll find the gun, okay? We'll find it and put a bullet between the asshole's eyeballs."

Dean looks over at Sam, questioning him. "What about Stanford? What about your interview?"

Sam completely forgot about school in that moment. As much as he wants to kill this thing, can he really leave his last chance at a good living, Jess, and most of all, normalcy behind?

He looks over at his brother and sees his green eyes glued to Sam's, with a flick of something Sam recognized as want. Dean wants Sam to come with him, he can tell, and Sam doesn't know if he could bear to see those eyes filled with hurt again.

Plus, since when has his life been anything remotely close to normal?

"Just take me by there to grab my things, " Sam tells him, which makes Dean smile for a split second, before it turned back into a frown.

"You're sure about this? You've got a chance at having a good life, Sammy," Dean says to him, his eyes returning to the road.

If it means I get to spend more time with you, hell yeah I'm sure, Sam thinks, wanting to tell Dean that.

"I'm sure, Dean," Sam tells him with certainty, tightening his grip on his brother's shoulder, which Dean shrugs off shortly afterward.

"Alright, but ease up on the shoulder will ya? I bruise like a peach."

Sam laughs at that, and then sits back into his seat. He glances over at Dean again and sees him smiling.

He loves it when Dean smiles.


	4. Chapter 4

Sam spends the rest of the car ride to Stanford glancing at his brother and smiling, when Dean wasn’t looking of course. 

 He missed this so much. 

 Dean tapping his fingers on the wheel as they drove, and singing along ( _extremely off key_ ) to his mullet rock. The way he pets the dashboard and says “Listen to her purr!” whenever he pushes the pedal down to the floor, clearly proud of all of the work he’s put into the car. Most of all though, Sam loves how most of the stress fades from Dean’s face when he drives. What he wouldn’t give for his brother to be this happy all the time. 

 Unfortunately though, they eventually get to Sam’s apartment at Stanford, and much to his dismay, as soon as the engine shuts down, so does Dean’s mood. He’s back to scowling and rubbing his forehead. 

 “Alright, hurry up would ya?” Dean demands, reaching and pulling the keys out of the ignition. 

 “Promise I won’t be long,” Sam tells him. 

 He gets out of the car and starts to head up to his apartment, when he notices Dean starts to head to the trunk. The trunk that’s holding about an army’s worth of weaponry. With a click, he pops it open, wedging his favorite sawed off shotgun under the lid to hold it up. He sighs, and starts reorganizing. 

 If anybody sees him, they’re going to call the cops on his ass.

 “Dean, seriously?” 

 “What?” Dean asks, as if he’s completely oblivious. Sure, it's dark outside, but Dean was parked right under a street light. 

 “You are aware that you’re in the middle of a college apartment complex, don’t you? Ever heard of the neighborhood watch? I hear they don’t take kindly to guys in leather jackets messing with guns in the middle of the street,” Sam tells him, which gets him a smirk.

 “All the more reason for you to hurry your ass up,” Dean says, looking at Sam and smirking. “Just spend a little less time doing your makeup.” 

 Sam glares at him after that, and then Dean seems to get the hint. He closes the trunk and proceeds to get back in the car.

 "Alright, alright,” Dean says, opening the driver’s side door. “I’ll just sit in here and twiddle my thumbs, like a good boy. Promise.”

 “Thank you,” Sam snaps, and then he heads upstairs. He’s sure he heard Dean say something else, probably a swear, but ignores it. 

 As soon as he opens the door, Sam clenches his nose.

 “Geez, it reeks in here,” he says, stepping inside and shutting the door behind him. 

  _This is why I don’t let Jess cook,_ he thinks, stepping through the apartment to get to his bedroom, glancing around trying to see where she was.

 He hears the shower running as he steps into his room, stripping out of his shirt. 

 “Hey babe, I’m home!” Sam calls out to the bathroom, putting on another shirt he just pulled out of his closet, but he doesn’t get a reply. 

  _Weird._

 He grabs a duffle bag out of the closet and starts to stuff a random assortment of clothes into it, before calling out to Jess again, “Well, hey, I’m going to be going on a road trip with my brother for a while, and I probably won’t be back for at least a month or so.”

 Still no response. 

 “So, if you want to kiss me, you might want to do it now before I disappear!” Sam tries again, putting the duffle bag down on the bed and walking towards the bathroom, starting to get a little worried.

 “Jess?” Sam calls out again, peeking his head through the bathroom door. 

  _Okay, what the fuck?_

 He sprints towards the shower and rips the curtain open.

 Jess isn’t there.

 Panicking, Sam runs out of the bathroom and back into the main room of the apartment, franticly searching every corner. 

 “Jess!” Sam screams, starting to really get worried.

 He turns and runs back into the bedroom, and then stops dead in his tracks. Sam realizes what it is he’s been smelling.

 Rotten eggs. Sulfur. 

 Sam feels something thick and wet drip onto his forehead. Reaching up with his hand, he wipes whatever it was off, and then stares at his hand in horror.

 Blood.

  _Nopleaseno._

 He jerks his head upward, and screams “No! Jess, no!” 

 She's above him on the ceiling, her sandy blonde hair dangling, her body limp and her mouth open, like she's trying to scream for help but can't. There's a straight line of blood across her stomach, which is bleeding profusely. 

 He doesn't know what to do, and stands there, frozen with shock for a split second before more blood drips onto his forehead.

 Then it happens.

 An explosion of flames engulfs her body, the force knocking Sam backwards onto the bed, and making his ears ring. They spread throughout the room, shattering through the windows, soon engulfing the entire ceiling, the entirety of Jessica’s body, and the whole apartment. Sam can't do anything but lie there helpless and scream, watching as she burns away on the ceiling.

 All of a sudden Dean's beside him, yelling at him ( _Sammy!),_ trying to get him off of the bed ( _Sammy you have to move!)._ Sam’s body isn't letting him go anywhere though, no matter how hard he tries to.

 Then he's in Dean’s arms ( _Christ, you’re heavy),_ being carried out of the apartment. As they reached the door, Sam could only make one thing out as he looked back into the bedroom.

 A single pair of yellow eyes. 

 

———————————————————————————-

 

Sam’s ears are still ringing, and he’s pretty sure he’s going to have a migraine for days. 

 He’s slouched against the Impala, which is parked down the street from where his apartment building used to be. There are firetrucks and ambulances surrounding the scene, and the fire still hasn’t been put out. Dean carried him out just in time, as the roof began to collapse behind them the moment they emerged. 

 A pain shoots through his chest as he thinks about Jess, and how he couldn’t help her. She was everything Sam could ask for, and he even started to think he was falling in love with her. 

 His chest starts to hurt even more as he remembers the last time they spoke.

  _Sam was sitting on the couch looking dumbfounded, with his cell phone still open in his hand._

  _He had just gotten off the phone with Bobby._

  _"What’s wrong?” Jess asks him, heading over to sit beside him with a bowl of cereal in her hands, wearing nothing but a t-shirt and panties._

  _“My…” Sam starts, staring down at the ground in disbelief, but he couldn’t bring himself to finish the sentence._

  _“Sam, baby, what is it?” Jess asks him, putting the bowl of cereal on the coffee table, and stroking his hair._

  _“My Dad’s dead.”_

  _The couch shifts beside him, and her arms are around him in an instant._

  _“What happened?” she asks him after a moment of silence._

  _“They’re not sure, but my Uncle Bobby thinks it could’ve been a hunting accident,” Sam answers, not talking about the same kind of hunting Jess thinks he is._

  _“I’m so sorry…,” Jess says, hugging him even harder. “Any idea when they’re having the funeral?”_

  _“Today, is what he told me.”_

  _“I’ll start to get ready,” Jess says, getting up from the couch._

  _The last thing he wants is for her to be around a bunch of hunters, and not to mention his brother. He wasn’t ready to expose her to that world yet._

  _Sam reaches out and grabs her arm, before saying “No, no, you don’t have to worry about it. We weren’t that close, and plus, Bobby lives all the way up in South Dakota. It’ll be a long drive.”_

  _Jess looks at him and frowns._

  _“He was your Dad, Sam. I want to be there for you,” she protests, not taking no for an answer quite that easily._

  _“I’ll be okay, really,” Sam tells her. “Plus, my family’s kind of… complicated.”_

  _Like that even came close to describing it._

  _She was still frowning, and looking like she wanted to argue the matter further, but after seeing the desperation on Sam’s face, she drops the subject, and then pulls him into a hug again._

  _“I understand,” she says, and then pulls away and begins walking towards their bedroom. “Go ahead and get in the shower, I’ll get your clothes ready and pack you something to eat for the drive.”_

  _What did Sam do to deserve this woman?_

 Sam jerks out of his flashback, his chest aching worse than ever, and looks over towards the crowd of people. Dean's standing in the midst of them, staring at the fire. He turns and sees Sam looking towards him, and begins to walk towards the car. His face was caked black from the smoke, and even though he was just in a burning building, refused to let the paramedics check to see if he was okay. 

 “Make sure everybody else is alright. Don’t worry about me,” Dean told them, shoving a pushy and demanding paramedic away from him.

 He really wishes his brother would swallow his chivalrous pride and just let himself be helped for once.

 When Dean reaches him, he starts to pat Sam down for the fourth time, checking for injuries. 

 “Dean, I’m okay, I promise. The paramedics said I didn’t suffer anything major,” Sam tries, while Dean is still patting him down. 

 “There’s a reason they don’t actually work in the hospital, Sam,” Dean says, finishing his examination and looking satisfied. Out of nowhere he reaches out and pulls Sam into a hug. “I’m just glad you’re okay.”

 Dean wasn’t letting him go anytime soon, so Sam gripped his brother’s jacket, and nuzzled his face into Dean’s neck, his nostrils burning from the fumes of the smoke.

 “I’m okay, but Jess…”

 He could feel the tears coming, and Dean just stands there and holds him, running his hands through Sam’s shaggy hair. 

 “I’m so sorry, Sammy,” Dean mutters into his ear, gripping tighter, and tilting his head to rest his face in Sam’s hair. 

 “It-it was the d-demon, Dean. I-I c-couldn’t do anything t-to-“

 “Shhh,” Dean interrupts, still stroking his hair and trying to calm him down. “There was nothing you could’ve done, you hear me?”

 He wants to believe Dean, he does, but how could he just lie there while she was burning above him? Such a pathetic excuse for a boyfriend. 

 God, he must look like a complete wreck.

 Sam sobs for a few minutes, trying to calm himself down and breathe in his brother’s scent beneath the burning odor of the smoke. 

 Dean’s scent does wonders for his nerves.

 Gaining his composure, Sam pulls away from Dean, wiping his tears and heading to the passenger’s side of the Impala. 

 “C’mon, we’ve got work to do,” he says, opening the door and climbing inside. 

 Dean stands in the street for a moment, puzzled, before hesitantly climbing into the drivers seat. Dean looks over at him with worry, but instead of meeting his gaze, Sam stares out the window. 

 “Sammy, are you sure that you’re-“

 “I’m fine,” Sam spits out, cutting Dean off. He didn’t want anymore words of comfort. All he wanted was to drive away from this place as quickly as possible, and never look back. 

 Sighing, Dean turns the keys. The engine roars to life, shaking the car. As they drive away, Sam stares into the rearview mirror and watches as his life as he knew it burns away. 

 Watches as Jess burns away. 

 


	5. Chapter 5

Sam’s head is still throbbing from everything that’s happened, trying to comprehend just how and why this shit just keeps going, and with no means of stopping.It seems like the yellow eyed demon is purposely singling him out, and he just can’t figure out why. Doesn’t the demon have bigger fish to fry? What was so special about him? All he knows is that he wants the fucker dead, and they have no leads as to where to find the Colt. 

 Dean said that they were heading to Colorado, because of some vague coordinates he found in Dad’s hunting journal. 

  _“_ Who knows, maybe it’ll lead us somewhere?” Dean tells him, tossing the journal into the backseat.

 “How? Those coordinates could mean anything, knowing Dad,” Sam answers. “We need to focus on finding the gun.”

 “And how do you propose we do that Sammy?” Dean snaps at him. “When I told you I lost it, I really mean that I lost it. I’m not sure if the demon has it, if I dropped it while I was trying to get away, or even if it’s neither of those. It could be anywhere at this point. So until we figure out where exactly it is we need to go, why not help some people along the way?”

 Sam folds his arms and looks out the window. He isn’t going to argue with Dean, no matter how much he disagrees with him. His argue meter is out of fuel.

 “Plus, it’s what Dad would’ve wanted us to do,” Dean adds. 

 Suddenly, his fuel gauge goes from empty to full.

 “Of course, because everybody knows that what John Winchester would want is more important than anything else,” Sam replies, and not a second after he finished the sentence, Dean jerks the car to the side of the road and slams on the breaks. 

 “What the fuck, Dean?!” Sam yells, reaching out to stop himself from slamming into the dashboard. 

 “Dad’s dead you son of a bitch,” Dean snaps, the anger in his voice apparent, leaning forward and pointing his finger at Sam. “Can’t you just let it go for once? I could give two shits about why you two hated each other, but I do know that I’m driving and you’re not, so that means I get to pick where we go, and you get to sit down and shut your damn cake hole. We’re going to Colorado whether you like it or not, so either you can come with me and we can possibly find a lead on the Colt, or you can get out and start walking.”

 Sam wants to open his mouth again to argue, but even he isn’t that stupid. He knows his brother is right, but his mind is just too clouded with hatred to think straight.

 “… I’m sorry," Sam says finally. “You’re right.”

 Dean’s face relaxes, and then he sits back into his seat. “I understand that you want revenge, Sammy, but so do I. We just need to try and keep our heads screwed on straight, okay?”

 Sam nods, and then Dean pulls back onto the road. 

 He lost track a while ago of where exactly they were. It’s almost dawn, so he knew they had to be somewhere in Utah right now if they were heading to Colorado. Figuring he should probably get some sleep, Sam rests his head into his arm against the window, and shut his eyes. 

 Before too long he feels the car pull into a driveway of some sort, and he opens his eyes. They're in a motel parking lot. 

 “Why’re we stopping?” Sam asks Dean, rubbing his eyes groggily. 

 “Because I need some sleep, and if you drive we’ll end up in a ditch,” Dean answers while getting out of the car. “Plus, we look like we’ve been playing around inside of a volcano. I don’t know about you, but I’d like a shower” He shuts the door behind him and walks into the main lobby.

 Sam looks into the passenger’s side mirror, and finds that Dean was right. His face and clothes are filthy, stained black from all of the smoke. 

 He stays sitting in the car while Dean checks in, and then follows him to their room. It's nothing spectacular, pretty par for the course for them. 

 “I call the shower first,” Dean says, smiling at Sam, running into the room and chucking his bag onto the far bed. In no time he was down to his boxers, and Sam’s groin twitched. 

  _I really need to lie down,_ Sam thinks to himself, sitting at the end of his bed, and then lying down on his back. 

 Dean never did have any shame, and was never shy about changing in front of Sam, and strolling through the room stark naked to get clothes out of his bag. 

 He always found himself looking at Dean for just a little too long, and it made him ungodly uncomfortable, but he couldn’t help himself. Dean is an extremely attractive guy. Always has been. 

 Dean soon slips out of his boxers too, and Sam feels his groin twitch again. He turns and lies on his stomach before Dean can get too much of a show.

  _Kind of like the one he’s giving me now._

 Finally, Dean goes into the bathroom ( _thank god),_ turns on the shower and shuts the door, and Sam feels like he can breathe again. He rolls over onto his back and looked down…

 Fuck, he’s _hard._

 Panicking, he stands up and adjusted himself so it isn’t noticeable. 

 Of course this is the time Dean decides to poke his head, dripping wet, out of the bathroom door, “Hey Sam, can you get me the shampoo out of my bag?” 

 Sam can feel his cheeks heating up ( _he could probably fry an egg on his face if he tried),_ and stands there like an idiot for a few seconds before answering “Y-yeah, okay.” 

 He starts to awkwardly shuffle towards Dean’s bag ( _please please please don’t let him look at my crotch),_ and, after what feels like an hour, he finds the bottle of shampoo. Not looking at Dean’s face, he hands him the bottle.

 Dean raises an eyebrow. “Are you okay, Sammy? You’re acting like a weirdo,” Dean says to him, his wet hair dripping water onto the carpet. 

  _Oh god, can he see it?_

 “M’fine,” Sam answers, shuffling back towards the bed and lying down on his stomach again.

 “You’re such a freak, dude” Dean laughs as he shuts the door to continue his shower.

  _That was WAY too close for comfort._

 Sam sighs to himself as he realizes this isn’t the first time that he’s looked at his brother and became aroused. This has been going on since, shit, probably since he was thirteen at least. Every time he would see Dean walk around without a shirt, or when he would walk around the hotel room in a towel, and even the time he walked in on his brother with some girl, Sam just couldn’t help but be turned on. Sure, he isn’t gay, not in the least bit, but something about Dean lights a fire in him. His deep green eyes, the way his brown hair sticks up when he styles it, his bow-legged walk, and Sam’s favorite, his stomach. Dean has an almost six pack (and a sexy ass treasure trail), but drinks a little too much beer and eats a little too many burgers, which Sam finds incredibly sexy. Imperfection, to Sam, is the highest form of perfection. 

 Truth is though, it isn’t just about how attractive Dean is, but about, well, _Dean._ He has the type of personality that can suck people in, and he sure as hell swept Sam off his feet like an F-5 tornado. 

 It got to the point where it was almost intoxicating to be around him, and that’s part of the reason why Sam had to leave to go to Stanford in the first place. Of course, he would never dream of telling Dean that. Because despite his feelings, they’re fucking _brothers._ It just isn’t right, and Sam hates himself for feeling it, but he can’t help it. 

 He finally thought that he was going to be able to leave his feelings behind when he met Jess. She was the perfect girl for him. She stood up for herself, always spoke what was on her mind, and didn’t care what people thought of her. Sam loved the way she didn’t give a shit about how healthy she was, always drinking beers and eating burgers when they went out. In a way, she almost reminded him of….

 Holy shit, he was trying to date his brother. 

 He turns over and sits on the edge of the bed, running his hands through his hair.

 “I’m so going to hell,” he says to himself quietly. 

 “You say somethin?” Dean yells from the shower. What is he, a bat?

 “Nothing!” Sam snaps.

 All of a sudden, Sam doesn’t care about showering anymore. He just wants to crawl into bed and never leave. He goes over to the sink right outside the bathroom door and splashes his face with water, trying to get at least some of the grime off. 

 Once he changes out of his clothes and he crawls into bed, Dean walks out of the bathroom, wearing nothing but his boxers again. Sam can’t take this anymore.

 “Jesus christ Dean, will you put a shirt on?!” 

 Dean jumps at his words like something bit him on the ass. 

 Sam shuts his eyes and tries to pretend like he’s having a bad dream, and just can’t wake up from this twisted form of reality.

 Trouble is, as much as he tries to pretend, Sam knows this reality isn’t going anywhere.

  Dean fumbles through his bag for a shirt, mumbling to himself, "What the hell did I do?"

  Even if it isn't going anywhere, he can sure as hell pretend like it is.

 


End file.
